


Fathers & sons

by orphean



Series: Fathers & sons [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26427352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphean/pseuds/orphean
Summary: Then the door burst open.The sound didn’t quite register, but Bruce turned his head to the doorway, his hand still in Clark’s hair, Clark’s mouth still on his neck.Jon and Damian stood there, faces drawn in the same wordless shock, staring at them.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Series: Fathers & sons [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2008201
Comments: 12
Kudos: 160





	Fathers & sons

**Author's Note:**

> _Dark Nights: Metal_ ends with a big party that Bruce, Clark, and Diana sneak away from to discuss how to deal with the problems they caused by saving the world. Although this fic picks up from the end of that comic, it only serves as a backdrop and doesn’t affect the plot at all. There’s a reference to Bendis’ _Superman _run, but otherwise the canon is kind of all over the place. What even _is_ canon??__
> 
> _  
> _I just wanted to write some Bruce being happy for once and think about the Supersons, y’all.__  
> 

They had talked for hours, looking over Bruce’s plans and discussing contingencies. Diana’s dress rustled as she moved around the desk, pointing out flaws and offering feedback. Clark stayed by Bruce’s side, radiating heat through his tux. Despite the danger that was yet to come, despite the unknowns they had released into the world by _saving_ the world, Bruce felt happy, happier than he had in years. They had won. The world was supposed to have ended, but they had won. A victory outside the confines of the universe felt very different from one on the streets of Gotham. A celestial victory.

‘I think I should leave.’ Diana smoothed her skirts with her hands, kissing each of their cheeks in turn. ‘There’s some people at the party I want to see. Thank you so much for hosting, Bruce.’

‘It’s the least I can do. The manor’s big enough and the boys have been longing for a party.’

Diana’s cheek was soft against his lips. She smiled at them.

‘Thank you both.’ She squeezed their hands in hers once more before she left.

When the door closed behind her, Bruce leaned against the short end of his desk and looked at his plans. Diagrams, lists, essays. Everything he could think of, and every resource he thought could be relevant. He was sure something was missing.

‘Do you think it’ll work?’ He asked and glanced up at Clark.

Clark smiled and moved closer. Soon enough, he had Bruce boxed in against the desk, thumbs brushing against his hips, knees just barely touching. Bruce didn’t think he’d ever get used to the size of Clark, the broad expanse of his shoulders and the strength he never wanted to use. 

‘Do you have to plan every night? Can’t you allow yourself to celebrate a single night?’ Clark’s breath was warm against his face, his eyes crinkling from the smile that he saved just for him.

‘I am celebrating.’ Bruce tipped his forehead against Clark’s, feeling his fingers brush the nape of his neck. ‘Where is Lois?’

‘London. Chasing a scoop about some MPs.’

Bruce hummed, the vocalisation intending to convey _good for her_. He tilted his head and met Clark’s blue eyes, bright and shining and inhuman in their beauty. On nights like these, Superman gleamed like his heart was a burning sun.

‘We won.’ Bruce said and couldn’t help his smile. Clark’s smile was just as bright.

‘ _You_ won.’ Clark countered, moving closer.

Bruce wasn’t sure who kissed who first, but it didn’t really matter. Years had passed since their first kiss, when they urgently had tried to learn how they fit together. They knew exactly what to do, how to move, when to touch. Clark leaned into the kiss, moving his hands to cradle Bruce’s face, each kiss slow and soft. Bruce shifted further up onto the desk, half-sitting now, gripping Clark’s lapels in his hands, pulling Clark between his legs. He wanted to feel his warmth, his bulk, his surety.

As the kisses deepened, unhurried and experienced, Clark moved his hands – one on his neck, the other flat against his back, keeping him in place. There were times when Bruce hated Clark’s strength and the way nothing could stop him. Other times, he needed it desperately. Tonight, he was grateful. He didn’t really want the documents on the desk to get crumbled. Years ago, he wouldn’t have cared, not when Clark kissed him like that. Years ago, he would be working through the impossibly small buttons on their shirts, desperate and urgent. Maybe they were just getting old. Maybe they just knew there was nothing to prove anymore. Tonight, he was in no hurry.

‘Stay the night.’

‘What?’

Clark pulled back, enough to meet his eye. His cheeks were dusted with a soft flush; his eyes wide and pupils dilated; his mouth pink and slightly open. He was so beautiful. Bruce couldn’t understand how he was able to hide this beauty behind a pair of glasses and hunched posture.

‘Stay the night. Here. With me. In the manor.’ Bruce smoothed down Clark’s lapels and waited to be rejected.

They never really slept together. Not at each other’s homes. Rarely at the Watchtower. There were occasional nights when Bruce travelled for business and Clark would touch down on the balcony, when Jon was staying at the farm and Lois wanted to be alone. They never got a hotel room together. It smacked of infidelity and lying, and that wasn’t it. Bruce just wanted to sleep next to Clark, his slow sleeping breaths a better soporific than anything else he knew. He wouldn’t even mind waking up at the crack of dawn, Clark’s fingers stroking his neck and back.

‘The kids’ll be here,’ Clark said, pushing a stray strand of Bruce’s hair back in place.

‘They’ll be in Damian’s room, on the other side of the manor. Jon’s hearing isn’t _that_ good. It’s been years since Damian’s been scared enough to come sleep in my room. And I don’t think he’d do that if Jon’s here. A bit too proud for that.’

‘Proud? _Damian_? I wouldn’t’ve thought.’ Clark grinned and kissed Bruce once before pulling back again. ‘Did I tell you about the time both of them slept in our bed?’

‘You didn’t. When was this?’ Bruce rubbed his thumb across the skin behind Clark’s ear. He leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering shut.

‘A few years ago. I can’t even remember the details. But you’d done something stupid, as per.’ Clark winked and Bruce huffed. ‘Damian obviously wouldn’t talk to me in the morning about why he was scared, but Jon said he was scared because Damian was. I woke up to both of them crawling into bed. Rao, they’re both such kickers. Lois couldn’t fall back asleep and had to escape to the guest room for all the kicking.’

‘Sorry you had to deal with that.’

When Damian had first come to the manor, there had been nights when Bruce woke up by his door creaking open and Damian crawling onto the end of the bed, falling into a restless sleep. It happened often enough that Bruce moved enough furniture to fit a second small bed in the room. Bruce didn’t know how to talk to him about why he was scared and the child never tried to discuss it. A couple of years ago, Damian had mentioned at the dinner table that Bruce really should redecorate his bedroom. He got the hint.

‘I didn’t mind. They’re our sons, after all. I’d do anything for you. Even if I could bruise, some night-time kicking would be a small price.’

Bruce had to kiss him after that. Their conversation was forgotten for several minutes. When he felt Clark’s fingers pulling at his bowtie, Bruce pulled back.

‘You don’t have to stay.’

Clark ran his fingertips over the lengths of the undone bowtie, hovering over the top buttons of his dress shirt.

‘I want to stay. I want to sleep next to you.’ He unbuttoned the first button, then the second. He splayed the collar open and kissed Bruce’s throat. ‘I want to be close to you.’

‘Well, in that case…’

Bruce shivered when Clark’s lips brushed across his skin, over his loud beating pulse and the sensitive spot behind his ear. He buried his fingers in his hair, holding him close. Clark made a sound and moved the hand on his back to wrap around his thigh, lifting him onto the desk as though two hundred pounds was nothing, and maybe it didn’t really matter if the papers on the desk got crumpled, not when Clark was pressed against him like that, not when Clark was kissing endless patterns along his jaw, not when his pulse beat like a hummingbird’s.

Then the door burst open.

The sound didn’t quite register, but he turned his head to the doorway, his hand still in Clark’s hair, Clark’s mouth still on his neck.

Jon and Damian stood there, faces drawn in the same wordless shock, staring at them.

It took Clark yet another moment to catch up, to notice the sudden stillness, and lift his head. In a flash, he had moved his hands to his side and taken half a step back. Bruce glanced over at him – his hair stood on end where he had rubbed against Bruce’s ear and his face was a deeper shade of pink, more embarrassment than arousal – before he looked back at the children in the doorway.

He had no idea what to say. He could still feel the ghost heat of Clark against his body. All at once, he was cold.

It was only seconds, but it felt like hours before someone spoke. Bruce couldn’t imagine how it must have felt for Clark.

‘How could you do this to Mom?’ Jon’s eyes were brimming with tears, his voice breaking on the last word. 

‘Jon, it’s not what you think, it’s not–’ Clark was walking towards the boys, a hand raised as though to indicate he wasn’t a threat, when Damian interrupted him.

‘It’s not what we _think_? You were _kissing_ him!’ He spat the words, his hateful glare directed at Clark.

‘Damian,’ Bruce began, warning in his voice, before he was also cut off.

‘And _you_. How _dare_ you?’

From the way Damian spoke, Bruce could hear what he meant. He wasn’t saying: _how dare you kiss Clark, when Clark is a married man?_ He was saying: _how dare you kiss Clark? How dare you kiss that_ alien?

Clark had reached the door and gently pried Jon’s fingers off the handle, closing the door, before he stepped back and kneeled before them both. Jon brushed away his tear with the back of his hand and took a half-step back, almost hiding behind the older boy.

Bruce should say _something_.

‘Like I said, it’s not what it looks like. Will you please let us explain?’ 

Clark reached out to touch Jon’s shoulder, the motion slow and careful. Jon furrowed his brow unhappily (a foible he’d inherited from Clark) and twisted his mouth (Lois all over), but didn’t move away. When Clark reached for Damian, he scoffed and slunk away.

‘Speak.’ The single syllable was dripping with ice.

‘Mom knows,’ Clark said to Jon, using the voice Superman saved for children trapped in burning buildings. He rubbed his thumb over his son’s shoulder, a futile reassurance against the tears that were welling up again. ‘Your mom knows, and she doesn’t mind. We sat down before anything happened, and we talked, and we agreed. Lois knows, Damian.’

Damian frowned, his arms folded over his chest. Bruce finally found the courage to move closer, buttoning his shirt back up. The bowtie was a lost cause, so he stuffed it in a pocket. Damian took another step back, almost to the wall now, keeping his distance.

‘Why?’ Jon’s voice was small and uncertain. He sounded younger than he was. ‘Is Mom not enough?’

Clark laughed, the short disbelieving chuckle that Bruce had always loved.

‘No, Jon, sweetheart, that’s not it. Your mom’s enough; she’s always been enough. I love her so much. And I love you. I love that we’re your parents. We loved you before you were born, before you even existed. It has nothing to do with that. It’s not that Lois isn’t enough. Believe me, it’s not.’ Clark pushed Jon’s face with a finger so their eyes met. Damian watched them from the distance, his jaw working. Bruce didn’t know what to do.

‘Then what is it?’

‘Remember that time you asked me if I loved Bruce the way I love Lois?’ Clark prompted. After a moment, Jon nodded. ‘I got flustered and I didn’t really answer properly, and I’m sorry about that. But I do. I do love Bruce. I love Bruce, and I love Mom.’

‘You can’t love two people.’ Damian spoke with the incredible certainty of being fifteen and (as far as Bruce knew, at least) never afflicted with falling in love.

‘Yes, you can.’ Clark held out a hand to Damian, palm up, inviting him to step closer. Damian stayed by the wall, arms crossed. ‘I love everyone in the league. That’s a lot more than two people.’

‘Damian’s right.’ Jon fidgeted, caught between his father and best friend, and blushed. ‘You can’t love two people like… like _that_. Not, like… kissing love.’

‘Romantic love. But kissing love is a pretty phrase. Might steal it for an article.’

The boy laughed a little before he remembered he was supposed to be angry with his father. He looked from Clark to Bruce, really looking at him for the first time that night. Bruce tried to meet his gaze, but it was difficult. He wondered if Clark had been giving Jon Kryptonian staring lessons. He was _good_. Clark looked between them, his hand on his son’s shoulder.

‘But you can. Love two people, I mean. Take it from one who knows.’

Jon nodded a little, but still looked concerned. The lull in the conversation felt like a ticking bomb.

‘You’re his concubine.’ It had been years since Damian had looked at Bruce like that, the gaze full of derision and scorn.

‘No.’ He bit back the anger at the insult.

‘ _No_ ,’ Clark repeated, and he turned to address Damian, one hand still on his son’s shoulder, ‘I understand that you are angry, Damian, but don’t speak to Bruce like that.’

‘ _Tt._ _You’re_ not my father, alien.’

‘He’s not _trying_ to be!’ Bruce knew he shouldn’t be yelling, that yelling was evidence of what he had always been scared of, that he was a failure as a father and deserving of his youngest’s disdain, but – ‘He’s your best friend’s father and for that, if for no other reason, you should treat him with some god-damned respect!’

Damian took a step forward, his mouth curled into a snarl that was far too much like Talia.

‘I don’t have to–’

‘Stop!’ Jon’s voice broke on the word, his hands over his ears. ‘Everyone, please. Stop yelling.’

Bruce fell silent and – to his surprise – Damian shut up as well.

‘I’m sorry, Jon.’ Clark kissed his forehead and stood up, pulling him into a quick hug. ‘No more yelling, I promise.’

It was so like Clark to make promises he would have no hand in keeping. Just like it was so like Clark to take those couple of steps to Damian and put his hands on his shoulders and, when the teenager didn’t immediately recoil, slowly pull him into a hug. Bruce watched the embrace, Clark’s hand holding Damian’s head to his chest, Damian’s arms firmly at his side. The boy exhaled but didn’t push Clark away.

‘How long.’

Clark glanced over at Bruce. _Your turn_ , the glance said. Still, Bruce hesitated, uncertain how his son would take the truth.

‘Before either of you were born.’

(He remembered, then, the early days. Days when neither of them quite knew how dangerous the world could be, when Clark didn’t know just how strong he was, when Bruce could wake up on rainy mornings without the cartilage in his knees twinging with complaint. They weren’t better days, not really. They had fought a lot, screaming matches that ended up with a slammed door far more often that they did in bed. But still, it was hard to not think fondly of that time, the early days where they began to understand each other and build something that was stronger than the ends of worlds.)

The silence stretched and stretched.

‘Let me go. I want to be alone.’ Damian shoved his hands into his pockets when Clark let him go, not meeting anyone’s eye. ‘For a while. I want to be alone and then I want to talk to Father. Alone.’

‘Would you like us to go, Damian?’ Clark had moved back to Jon, his hands on his shoulders again. Damian glanced over at Jon.

‘No. Alfred already set up the air mattress.’

‘Alright.’ Clark smiled at each of them in turn before checking his watch. ‘What about this? You and I, Jon, find somewhere to call mom and you can ask whatever you want. It’s late enough that it’s morning in England. You, Damian, can get some time alone while you, Bruce, go and make an appearance at the party. There’s still a few stragglers, it sounds like. Then you and your dad can talk and once you’re done I’ll drop off Jon. It is _way_ past your bedtime.’

‘I don’t _have_ a bedtime,’ Damian muttered, but he didn’t protest the plan.

‘Does that sound okay to you, Bruce? Here, your hair’s a mess.’

Bruce made a sound, a _hm_ that meant _yes, that’s fine_ , and tipped his head when Clark started carding through his hair. He felt self-conscious about letting Clark touch him like this, innocent and affectionate, in front of Jon and Damian, but from the way Clark moved it was an intentional choice. Clark half-smiled at him as he worked.

He wondered if this open fondness was something he would have to get used to. For a second, he had the flash of a family picnic in Smallville: Jon playing both pitcher and catcher; Damian batting the baseball, face screwed up in concentration; Clark sprawled on the gingham blanket, his feet in Lois’ lap and his head in Bruce’s lap. Maybe, just maybe, he could get used to something like that.

Clark wasn’t going to see anyone from the League, so the gesture was excessive, but Bruce reached up and matted down the hair poking straight out. Clark leaned into the touch.

‘There, looking better.’

‘Yours is a lost cause.’ Bruce stroked his fingers through the hair once more before giving up and stepping away. Clark touched his head and rubbed at the spot. If anything, it made it worse.

‘Right, everyone ready?’ Clark smiled first at Bruce and then the boys.

‘Wait, I have one more question.’ Jon worried his lower lip between his teeth and looked from Clark to Bruce, then back.

‘What is it, son?’

‘It’s for – Bruce.’ Jon stumbled over his name, like he wasn’t used to saying it. He inhaled deeply several times before he blurted out: ‘are you and Mom… y’know… like you and _Dad_?’

A beat.

Clark stared at Bruce, red in the face, as he started spluttering a response.

‘No no, that’s not – no not at all, your mother is a lovely woman but – uh – no, Lois and I have never –’

‘So that’s a no, then.’ Damian raised an eyebrow at him. It was a strangely sweet intervention.

‘That’s a no.’ Bruce confirmed, giving Jon a weak smile.

Jon nodded at him and reached for his father’s hand. Clark followed him through the door, mouthing _see you later_ at Bruce. Damian shifted from one foot to the other.

‘I’ll be in my room, Father.’

He left.

All things considered, this could have gone worse. It would have been better if it hadn’t gone at all, but – could’ve been worse.

Bruce made his way back to the party, where a few final stragglers were finishing their drinks and swaying to the music. Oliver caught him in a bear hug and began to drunkenly explain that he always really _did_ respect Batman and he was happy they were friends and that whisky was _really_ smooth and did he mention that he loved Dinah and that the League was like the best group of super friends and – Dinah peeled the archer off Bruce and apologised with a grimace and a grin. After making the rounds, he went to the kitchen.

It wasn’t that Alfred had _banned_ Bruce from the kitchen, but he had strongly suggested that it would behoove him to focus his attentions elsewhere. Still, Bruce was determined. How hard could it be to make ovaltine, _really_?

Ten minutes later and two discarded cups of burnt milk later, he knocked on Damian’s door.

‘Come in.’

Bruce had brought two mugs with him, and he left one by the top of the air mattress for Jon, and put the other – the grey one with a matching ceramic lid that his youngest liked – on Damian’s bedside table. He was sitting in bed, blankets draped over him. He looked at Bruce warily as he sat down.

If Bruce wasn’t Bruce, if he were Clark or some other father who was better, he would reach out to tousle Damian’s hair or touch his shoulder or take his hand. He would rely on some kind of physical touch to bridge this gap. Maybe if this was Dick at fifteen, he would have. But that didn’t seem right with Damian. Bruce folded his hands in his laps and waited for his son to speak.

‘I presume that Mother doesn’t know?’ 

‘No, and she can’t know. If she found out, it wouldn’t just put Clark in danger. Lois would be a target. Jon would be a target.’

‘Jon’s already _been_ a target,’ Damian snapped, the tone more tired than angry. ‘Who else knows?’

‘Alfred. Diana. Selina. Lois, of course.’

‘Not Grayson?’

‘I think he suspects. Or at least used to suspect. But I’ve never told him.’

‘You should have told me.’

The penny dropped. Bruce had thought that Damian was angry at him, offended that his father would kiss an alien, and to compound the offense, kiss a _man_ . He hadn’t expected that he was _hurt_. Jon may have been the one who cried, but Damian had been just as upset.

‘Maybe I should have.’ Bruce shifted and moved the mug closer to Damian, displacing the lid. ‘It’s been a secret for a long time. It’s never been anyone’s business. And it won’t ever be the kind of relationship that anyone needs to know about.’

‘Would you like it to be?’ Damian asked, his green eyes piercing. Bruce was still considering an answer – an _honest_ answer – when Damian asked another question. ‘Do you get jealous? Of Lois?’

‘Sometimes,’ Bruce finally said, and he did reach out to touch Damian, stroking his fingers over his hair. ‘But it wouldn’t work. Clark and I – we’re not meant to be like that. We’d drive each other crazy, despite it all. It’s better the way it is. It works like this.’

‘You love him.’ It wasn’t a question.

‘Yes.’ But it deserved an answer.

‘And he loves you.’

‘Yes.’

Damian considered this, looking at Bruce as though he could suss out some great truth if only he stared at him long enough.

‘I know where the kryptonite is,’ he said. ‘And you should have told me.’

‘I’m sorry. But if you ever try to hurt Clark, you know you won’t just have me to contend with. Stay away from the kryptonite.’ Damian huffed but Bruce could see the slight curl of his lip. He held the mug out to him. ‘I made you ovaltine.’

The boy looked at the liquid skeptically and took a sip. He made a face.

‘It’s burnt.’

‘You should’ve tasted the milk I _actually_ burnt.’

‘Hopeless.’ Damian exhaled through his nose and took another sip. He almost smiled.

Bruce stayed where he was, there if Damian had anything else he wanted to talk about. The conversation felt bookended, but he felt like leaving would be a rejection. Damian could tell him when he wanted him to go.

A knock on the door.

‘It’s Jon and me. Do you want some more time?’ Clark spoke just loud enough that he could be heard through the thick door.

Bruce looked at Damian.

‘You can come.’

Clark smiled when he opened the door, and Jon bounded over the threshold.

‘Jon, pyjamas. It’s bedtime.’

In a blur of motion, Jon disappeared and reappeared in a pair of pyjamas with a bold frog print pattern, his clothes bundled up in his arms. He dumped them by the mattress and spotted the mug.

‘What’s this!’ He took a sip just as Damian said –

‘It’s burnt ovaltine.’

‘ _Eugh_.’ Jon made a disgusted face and then took a deep draught. ‘I don’t know why you drink this.’

‘When Alfred makes it, it’s not burnt.’

Now was the time to leave. Bruce stood up and touched Damian’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze in place of a hug. Reconsidering, he leaned in and put his arms around him. Damian froze before he answered the embrace, the side of the mug pressed against Bruce’s shoulder blade. When Damian let go, Bruce joined Clark by the door.

‘Right, kids, don’t stay up too late. It’s way past your bedtime, and you’re both growing kids. Don’t play Super Mario all night – you kids need all the sleep you can get.’

‘If you need anything, you know where to find me.’ Damian raised an eyebrow at Bruce. ‘You know where to find us.’

‘Good night, boys.’ Clark smiled at them both.

Jon bounded up from the mattress and collided into Clark’s chest, arms wrapped around him.

‘Good night, Dad.’ Jon grinned a superwatt smile at him and turned to Bruce, suddenly hesitant. He moved from one foot to the other, before he reached out his arms and hugged Bruce as well. ‘Good night, batdad.’

Clark didn’t _quite_ hide his laughter.

‘Good night, you too.’ Bruce ruffled Jon’s hair and looked at Damian. Damian nodded at him, then Clark. ‘Alfred’s making French toast tomorrow. Be up at ten or you won’t get any.’

They didn’t speak after they left Damian’s room, making their way through the winding hallways to Bruce’s room. As they turned the corner, Clark grabbed Bruce’s hand and entwined their fingers. When the door closed behind them, Bruce pushed Clark against the door and kissed him like they hadn’t been interrupted by their own _children_ , like they were still making out like teenagers on top of a mahogany centrepiece desk. When they finally both pulled back, Clark nuzzled their cheeks together, his arm wrapped around Bruce’s waist.

‘So how did it go?’

‘It went well. He _did_ remind me that he knows where the kryptonite is.’ Bruce burrowed his nose into Clark’s shirt, breathing him in. ‘How did it go with Lois?’

‘Good, good.’ Clark kissed his ear, his fingers combing through his hair. ‘She seemed to find it more funny than anything else. Jon had a lot of questions. I might have promised that he could ask you some questions, too. Sorry about that.’

‘It’s fine.’ Bruce tugged Clark’s shirt free from the waistband, sliding a hand up his back. His skin was warm and comforting, just like always. ‘Maybe he’ll stop being so scared of me.’

‘I don’t think that’s going to happen. He’s only _just_ stopped calling you Mr Bruce.’

‘I always thought that gave me an air of elegance.’ Bruce felt Clark scoff against his clavicle. ‘Did we do wrong by them by letting them find out like that?’

Clark pulled back and studied him. His eyes were that piercing blue that Bruce was certain no human could ever copy, eyebrows pursed just slightly. The moonlight broke on his sharp cheekbones and Bruce reached up to touch him without thinking about it. Clark smiled at the touch, kissing Bruce’s thumb when it brushed over his lips. He hooked his thumbs in Bruce’s pockets and walked him over to the bed, asking him to sit with a soft touch on his shoulders. He leaned down to kiss him, each kiss short and innocent. 

‘They were going to find out sooner or later.’ Clark touched two fingers against Bruce’s sternum and he climbed onto the bed when Bruce let himself fall. ‘Whenever it would happen, _how_ ever it would happen, Jon’s first reaction would be to worry about Lois, and Damian’s would be to get angry about it. At least they’re both old enough that we didn’t have to give them the birds and the bees talk. Now _that_ would be embarrassing.’

‘Oh, Jesus.’ Bruce sprawled his hands above his head, palms up. Clark found them and closed his fingers around them. ‘Small mercies, I guess.’

‘It would’ve been better if we had told them and they hadn’t walked in on us, of course. I should’ve heard them – sorry about that.’

‘You should, but we should both have made sure the door was locked.‘

‘Aren’t you being very magnanimous?’

‘Mm, don’t get used to it.’ Bruce fluttered his eyes shut, focusing on the sensation of Clark’s thumbs brushing over his wrists, fluttering across his pulse points.

‘I think I just might anyway.’

Clark leaned down to capture Bruce’s mouth, the kisses first gentle and hesitant, soon growing hungry and chasing. Bruce bucked against Clark’s soft touches, wanting him closer, wanting to feel his skin against his. Bruce could feel Clark smile into the kiss when he managed to tug a hand free and curl his fingers in his hair.

‘Getting impatient? I’d say it’s way past your bedtime, Mr Wayne.’ Clark’s teasing tone would have been more convincing if he didn’t sound so ragged.

‘Jokes on you, Mr Kent,’ Bruce flipped them over and perched over Clark, holding his hands over his head with one hand and stroking his hair with the other. He nipped at Clark’s neck. ‘I don’t have a bedtime.’

‘Well, then.’ Clark smiled lazily at him, eyes warm with love. ‘I guess today’s my lucky day.’

Bruce grinned and leaned down for another kiss.

  
  
  


**Epilogue.**

On the other side of the house, the two boys played another Mario Kart tournament with the sound all the way down and very pointedly did not discuss what they were both assuming their fathers were doing right then.


End file.
